


Melody and Percussion

by Desdemonaspace (Ezagaaikwe)



Category: Something New (2006)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Interracial Marriage, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 15:46:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezagaaikwe/pseuds/Desdemonaspace
Summary: A short sequel to Making Things Bloom, a ficlet based upon the movie Something New, in which a somewhat workaholic African-American professional woman marries a white landscape architect.  They agree on baby names (or do they?) and decide to move to a bigger house.





	Melody and Percussion

Brian drove Kenya to work to pick up the last few files she couldn't leave alone, then brought her straight home. She was exhausted, and promptly went to bed. 

Eight and a half months pregnant is **not** a walk in the garden. 

While Kenya slept, he scrubbed the tub. She’d want a bath when she awoke. Her third trimester consisted of near constant back pain, and the OB-GYN okayed her soaking in tepid water. Idly, he picked up one of her hair products. What in the hell was “curl stretch loosening pudding”? She spent a lot of time in the bathroom, but after two years of marriage, Brian had learned to leave her hair strictly alone, except to say, “Gorgeous,” and it was. _She_ was. He knew he was lucky that she hadn’t kicked him to the curb after he asked about the weave, the first time they slept together. Incredibly lucky! She could spend an hour getting ready, _two_ hours, and she was gorgeous. What man complained about waiting, when the result was someone as beautiful as his wife? And it wasn't only her looks. She was so all-around competent. Everything she undertook she excelled at - more of that "black tax"? He knew himself to be punching above his weight. 

Weeks ago, he overheard Kenya say to her mother, “I hope she has good hair.” Brian’s heart broke a little. He had his heart set on Mickey Mouse ponytails set on high, fluffed out into a pair of poofy black pom-poms. Since he was to be the househusband, he supposed that that included kid hair-styling. Perhaps he could learn braiding? Take little Melody into a salon and watch and try to learn? Now Percussion, he imagined the boy in a hip fade, if fades were still stylish when he was old enough for a haircut. But if Melody wanted the fade and Perc wanted braids, Brian would be accommodating.

(The babies’ names were Tyrone and Aretha, but Melody and Percussion “stuck,” at least in Brian’s mind. He reminded himself to say, “Tyrone and Aretha.”)

Kenya was starting to stir, lying with her back to the bathroom. He thought, She is one of those pregnant women who don’t look pregnant from behind. Was it out of character for him to be so attracted to her at almost nine months? Hell, no! He'd had his fair share of sex before they married, and never looked twice at pregnant women, but his beautiful wife? She could be big as an elephant and he would still want her. Constantly.

She rolled over and rubbed her eyes. “You had something you wanted to show me?”

~~~

  
Kenya set the other pictures aside and returned to her favorite. “Why is it so cheap?” she asked with a puzzled frown on her face. 

He smiled. “You like it?”

She frowned. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You don’t miss a thing, do you?” He grinned at her and handed her a magnifying glass. “Look in the window. It’s a shell - the owners ran out of money halfway through building it.”

She didn’t take the magnifying glass but peered closely at the picture. “You’re right. The interior… isn’t.” With real reluctance, she set the picture down. “How much would it take to finish it?”

“There’s a story here. I did the landscaping for the former owner, who wanted a formal garden and gazebo. The lot is _huge_. There was a fine old house on the site, but it suffered major damage in the Northridge quake. They sold it as a tear-down, and the buyer spared no expense, tore it down, used the most up-to-date quake-proof construction techniques. They roughed-in the plumbing… and ran out of money. The husband was an investment advisor, and they were paying cash as they went along. When he got sent up for securities fraud, his wife split to Switzerland, and the house never got finished. That’s why it’s so cheap. Although, not cheap in the ‘materials’ sense. It exceeds code, and has a copper roof.”

She repeated, “What would it take to finish it?” Kenya shifted in her chair, grimaced with pain, then stretched out on their bed. “Pillows, please?” Brian arranged four under her knees, and she flattened the small of her back. “That’s better.”

“Well, before we discuss money, let’s talk time. You’re due in less than two weeks, and there’s no way the place could be done in time. Even just finishing the main floor and one bedroom…” 

Their eyes met.

“I know we said I wouldn’t stay with my parents during the move, but Brian, that is one seriously gorgeous house.”

He nodded. No pressure. “My dad and I are the gardeners in the family - I’ve only built cabanas, but my uncle Al is in construction. His son Jim is an electrician.” He started to laugh, put on a hillbilly accent. “We could have a real old-fashioned house-raising!” He sobered. “This isn’t what we discussed. You did _not_ want your parents hovering over you. Melody and Percussion in there are the first grandkids. They’ll kick up a fuss and you won’t like that.” He didn’t mean the babies.

She answered obliquely. “I love that neighborhood. There’s a little business district on Calle Rendon and Avery. I used to take ballet lessons from Madame Kasperova near there.”

“That area is the up-and-coming arts mecca. It’d be fun to live there. The neighborhood is diverse. Not gentrified. I think it’d be a good place to bring up Ty and Retha.” 

With an effort, Kenya sat up. “Okay, I can do this. You’re working so hard on selling this place and finding us a new one. I can woman up and stay with my folks for a while.” 

“I'll ask Al to finish the first floor first. Kitchen, bath, and one bedroom. Then at least one of the kids’ rooms, stat. I want you to myself.” He kissed her. “How’s your back?”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “You mean, ‘Is it up to this?’” She kissed him deeply. “Yes.”

~~~

  
After lovemaking - who could have predicted that pregnant sex was so _hot_? - Kenya said, “You said ‘Melody and Percussion.'"

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“Yes. You said ‘Melody and Percussion in there.'" Their hands were laced over Kenya’s belly. She lifted her hand and pointed. “Do you like those names better than Tyrone and Aretha?”

Abashed, Brian said, “Well, I like Ty and Retha a lot, but Melody and Percussion are sort of stuck in my head, like an earworm. Remember when you couldn’t get “I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)” out of your head? Like that, except that I _like_ Melody and Percussion.”

“As middle names?”

“Hmm.” He tried it on for size: “Tyrone Percussion. Percussion Tyrone. Tyrone P. McQueen-Kelly. Okay, that could work. I vote for keeping Tyrone as a first name. It commands respect.”

“And for Aretha?” she prodded.

“Are you kidding? Aretha and Melody are two ways of saying the same thing.”

Kenya pulled Brian into an embrace. “You know, Melody and Percussion are kind of a metaphor... for us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to baby Archie


End file.
